This One's for You
(Sprache: Englisch)
A gorgeous contemporary romance about two ex-best friends, Cass and Syd, on a life-altering road trip following the reunion tour of the Darlas—the band Cass’s mom was in when she died. Perfect for fans of Nina LaCour, Mary H.K. Choi, and Jandy...
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A gorgeous contemporary romance about two ex-best friends, Cass and Syd, on a life-altering road trip following the reunion tour of the Darlas—the band Cass’s mom was in when she died. Perfect for fans of Nina LaCour, Mary H.K. Choi, and Jandy Nelson.After their high school graduation, former best friends Cass and Syd are gearing up for their futures. Cass has planned to go to college to become an engineer, while Syd—despite the fact that her family thinks she’s messed up her whole life—has lined up a sound internship at a historic music venue.
But Cass is keeping secrets. Though his dad has forbidden it, Cass has been playing music, taking trips to San Francisco BART stations to play and make money. Somehow, it’s become a way for Cass to connect with his mother—who was also a musician—who died in a drunk driving accident on the way back from a gig when he was one.
But after Syd catches Cass playing at the BART station, and Cass finds out his mom’s old band the Darlas is going on a reunion tour, everything changes. On impulse, Cass invites Syd to the first Darlas show, and without telling anyone, they make a break for it. Turning one show into a cross-country journey, the two former friends throw away all their plans for the future and embark on a life-altering road trip following the tour, keeping it a secret from their friends and family.
Along the way, they’ll untangle the messy threads of how they became “ex”-best friends, experience the power of nature and music, and decide what they really want their lives to be. Maybe, through it all, Cass and Syd can find a way back to each other, too.
Lese-Probe zu „This One's for You “
1Caspian
Some mornings, when I m still drifting back and forth between asleep and awake, I think I can hear her voice. She s singing, or maybe she s laughing, and it s the color of sunlight on the back of my eyelids. Orange-gold. Glowing.
It s not her real voice. The human brain doesn t start making memories until the age of two, and she was gone long before that. She died in a time when there was nothing but a half-made, invisible foundation, when my subconscious was still being shaped by experiences that would never be remembered. She shaped me in the impression of her voice and her touch, and then her absence. But I ll never, ever know her.
If I let them, things with Mom can become an obsession. I m a detective and she is the case that will make my career. I m a scientist, and she is the grand, elegant equation that will explain the universe. But the rest of the time, she truly doesn t exist to me.
I run down the front steps and jump on my bicycle, the straps of my helmet dangling down around my ears. My American History final is in ten minutes; I just woke up and I haven t even brushed my teeth.
I begin pedaling furiously up the giant hill that leads away from the cul-de-sac. June gloom is in full force, so I m not sweating as hard as I could be by the time I get to the top. Just enough that I feel a trickle at the edge of my forehead.
I fly through the burned-out strip that is downtown El Sobrante, dodging a man who is riding his horse down the street. I pass Santa Shoe Repair, Nerd Crossing, Mountain Mike s Pizza. I barrel into the school parking lot and lock up my bike next to a monstrous hydrangea bush, run down the hallway, and slide into my seat at 8:59 a.m.
Hannah looks over at me and says, You look . . . interesting. Everything okay?
She s perfectly neat as always, and there is something deeply calming about her thick golden ponytail, her crisp white T-shirt, the tiny silver H at her throat. I reach up and tug the end of her
... mehr
hair.
I accidentally slept in.
She raises both hands. Not my fault.
Then Mr. Henderson walks in, looking sad and rumpled, the human equivalent of a ketchup stain.
Good morning, seniors! For most of you this will be the last test you ever take at De Anza High. Good luck.
He passes around the test books and pencils and then the next two hours are a fog of essay questions about the Civil War and the industrial revolution. I try, but by the end of it I m basically propping my eyes open with sticks.
I hand in my test, brush my teeth in the bathroom, and then wait for Hannah and Jake out front. A pack of wild turkeys roams through the parking lot, shitting on cars. I sit on the gate of Hannah s dad s pickup truck, tucked between my bike and the surfboards, my hood cinched over my ears to muffle the chattering birds and the distant highway sounds.
And then we are driving along the Richmond Parkway, my hand on Hannah s knee, Jake whining about being crammed into the back seat of the extended cab. The fog is burning into a smoggy, hazy blue that can t decide if it s dirty or clean. A cormorant corkscrews into the water. Rust-colored fuel cylinders loom on the hillside, blending in to the orange rocks.
We cruise over the Richmond Bridge, past the San Quentin State Prison. Hannah is singing along loudly to the Killers, which she thinks is cool/retro but everyone knows is garbage music. Her voice is slightly off-key, but somehow it s charming.
Hannah is calmly, classically beautiful, with delicate features and soft, pale skin. We ve been together since junior year but I liked her for a lot longer than that.
We re heading up to Bolinas, where Hannah and Jake will surf and I ll wait on the beach, and then we ll mee
I accidentally slept in.
She raises both hands. Not my fault.
Then Mr. Henderson walks in, looking sad and rumpled, the human equivalent of a ketchup stain.
Good morning, seniors! For most of you this will be the last test you ever take at De Anza High. Good luck.
He passes around the test books and pencils and then the next two hours are a fog of essay questions about the Civil War and the industrial revolution. I try, but by the end of it I m basically propping my eyes open with sticks.
I hand in my test, brush my teeth in the bathroom, and then wait for Hannah and Jake out front. A pack of wild turkeys roams through the parking lot, shitting on cars. I sit on the gate of Hannah s dad s pickup truck, tucked between my bike and the surfboards, my hood cinched over my ears to muffle the chattering birds and the distant highway sounds.
And then we are driving along the Richmond Parkway, my hand on Hannah s knee, Jake whining about being crammed into the back seat of the extended cab. The fog is burning into a smoggy, hazy blue that can t decide if it s dirty or clean. A cormorant corkscrews into the water. Rust-colored fuel cylinders loom on the hillside, blending in to the orange rocks.
We cruise over the Richmond Bridge, past the San Quentin State Prison. Hannah is singing along loudly to the Killers, which she thinks is cool/retro but everyone knows is garbage music. Her voice is slightly off-key, but somehow it s charming.
Hannah is calmly, classically beautiful, with delicate features and soft, pale skin. We ve been together since junior year but I liked her for a lot longer than that.
We re heading up to Bolinas, where Hannah and Jake will surf and I ll wait on the beach, and then we ll mee
... weniger
Autoren-Porträt von Kate Sweeney
Kate Sweeney
Bibliographische Angaben
- Autor: Kate Sweeney
- Altersempfehlung: Ab 12 Jahre
- 2023, Internationale Ausgabe, 288 Seiten, Maße: 13,9 x 21 cm, Kartoniert (TB), Englisch
- Verlag: Penguin Random House
- ISBN-10: 059362212X
- ISBN-13: 9780593622124
- Erscheinungsdatum: 02.02.2023
Sprache:
Englisch
Pressezitat
*"A beautifully written story about grief, love, and not just discovering who you are but finding the courage to declare, This is who I am! before the world...This is a must-read for music fans and romantics who believe in destiny but know fate alone can t hold up a relationship even true love needs you to put in the work."--Booklist (starred review)"Music fans will especially enjoy this story of two people learning to trust themselves and each other."--Kirkus Reviews
"Amplifying raw emotion through imagery-rich prose, Sweeney explores mental health and the transition to adulthood...[and] captures the sensory immersion of musical performance...via lyrical alternating perspectives."--Publishers Weekly
Praise for CATCH THE LIGHT:
"Beautifully captured, like a photograph of a stolen moment. I ached for Marigold in her journey to move forward while not forgetting her past. Kate Sweeney's Catch the Light overflows with grief, love, and growing up."--Amy Spalding, bestselling author of We Used to Be Friends
* Healing through art is a theme to which Sweeney, who is also a singer-songwriter, does beautiful justice. Her expressive prose renders quotable lines on nearly every page of Catch the Light as Marigold opens herself up to inhabiting the new life she's forging after and despite her great loss. Catch the Light is an affecting and affirming case for the painful, transformative inevitability of hope in the face of heartache. --BookPage (starred review)
"An edgy love story in which everyone seems to have a secret to hide."--Kirkus Reviews
"Sweeney writes with fluid elegance, effectively capturing the foggy disengagement often conferred by mourning...[while the romance] offers plenty of sweetness despite the shadows"--BCCB
"A captivating study of the ways grief affects families, friendships, and the very idea of love."--Booklist
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